Altruism
by paganpunk2
Summary: Dick's day volunteering at a BPD fundraising car wash takes a turn for the delightful when Alfred stops by. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is a fun little romp with Dick and Alfred that popped into my head over the weekend. I hope you find it as amusing to read as I did to write. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Holy shit, is that a Bentley?"

Dick looked up from the bucket he was filling. Seeing the car his fellow officers were gaping at, he almost choked. _Aaaaalfred,_ he groaned to himself, both delighted and horrified. As nice as it was that the butler had remembered about the BPD's Annual Widows and Orphans Fund Car Wash, he couldn't help but wish he'd brought one of the less blatantly expensive vehicles. "Looks like a classic one, too," he commented, trying to distance himself from the sleek machine that had pulled to a stop a few feet away.

"Mid-fifties," his sergeant nodded. "You don't lay eyes on something like that very often, boys and girls. Take it in while you can."

"...Can we even wash that?" someone in the back asked. "What if we break something?"

"There goes a year's salary," a nervous laugh answered.

"Hey, Grayson, you're from the fancy-schmancy side of the river," Emerson punched his shoulder playfully. "Go talk to this rich guy so that rest of us don't embarrass ourselves, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved good-naturedly. Handing off the hose, he moved around to the driver's side and bent down. "...Hey, Alfred," he greeted, trying not to blush.

"Good morning, young sir," the man behind the wheel replied in a suitably low-pitched voice. "I hope your fundraiser is off to a good start?"

"It looks that way," he nodded. "We just got started a few minutes ago, but it's been great so far." There were four other washing stations set up in the precinct parking lot, and all of them were in use. "At ten bucks a pop, we should pull in some solid money if we get steady traffic."

"Very good. Now, then," he passed over a folded bill, "I'd like to have my conveyance cleaned by the fine young men and women of the 43rd Precinct, please."

"...You realize you just paid for ten washes, right?" Dick arched an eyebrow.

"Ah, well, I thought your uncertain-looking friends might resent the extra time they'll no doubt take to avoid damaging this rare automobile. I believe you mentioned that the team with the most money at the end of the day wins some sort of prize, am I correct?"

"A paid day off."

"Yes, I recall now. And everyone in the winner's circle will spend their extra hours of freedom at home with their adoring families, I've no doubt."

He couldn't hold his grin back any longer. "Naturally."

"Well, consider this my first contribution to that cause, then. And to the widows and orphans as well, of course."

"Wait...your _first_ contribution? Alfred, what...?" He peered at him, confused. It made sense for the Englishman to have come by today, and to have done so in the '56 Continental – it was his favorite car out of all of those in the manor's cavernous garage, Dick was well aware – but he seemed to be implying that he'd be making further trips from Gotham to Bludhaven that afternoon.

"There are plenty of other cars that could use a good scrubbing," the butler winked, "and I'm far too old to give them the elbow grease they deserve. Now, then," he began to roll the window up, "I believe you have some work to do, do you not?"

"Right," Dick laughed, straightening. "All right, people," he called over the roof. "Let's get scrubbing. For a donation this generous, we can get the chrome nice and shiny. He's particular about that."

"Is that a _hundred_?!"

"Yup," he smirked, dropping it into the lock box and picking up a sponge. "First car of the day, and we've already made ten times what the others have."

A general cheer went up, and everyone fell in. The hose was brandished, bubbles sloshed, and towels whisked away droplets before they could leave water marks. Dick soaped and shammied alongside his co-workers, smiling all the while. _Good old Alfred, _he mused, wondering if Bruce knew what the butler was up to today. The longer he thought about it, the more he leaned towards 'no.' The billionaire's style was to cut the Fund a check and take it as a tax write-off at the end of the year; only Alfred would drive back and forth all day in order to subtly influence the outcome of an intra-office competition.

"...Hey, Grayson?"

"What's up, Emerson?"

"D'you know this guy or something?"

His brain froze for a second, but his hands didn't miss a swipe. "Gotham's not exactly a small place, Mikey," he joked. "Believe it or not, I don't know everyone who's from there."

"Yeah, but...you knew about the chrome thing."

"What did you think we were talking about the whole time I was leaning in his window? The World Series? He was giving me directions, man, that's all. The guy wants to get his money's worth."

"He thinks a bunch of off-duty cops can give him a hundred-dollar car wash?"

"Well, he said that if he likes how it turns out he might come back later with another ride and another hundred dollar bill, so...I guess so," he shrugged.

A blast of water suddenly soaked Emerson's hip. "Hey!" he exclaimed, leaping up. "Rinse the car, not me, Pierson! Jeez..."

"Quit hassling Dick," she flicked the stream towards him again with a dangerous grin. "If he can get this guy to keep bringing his cars through our line, then who _cares_ if he knows him?"

"Yeah!" a couple other cries rang out.

"Heh," Dick laughed. "Thanks for the support, Becca."

"Hey, I'm all about a paid day off. And the widows and orphans," she added as if that were obvious. "Now get out of the way, silver tongue, so we can get this beauty cleaned off and on her way."

A minute later he was leaning in the window again. "All bright and shiny," he announced.

"I've no doubt about that, Master Dick. Now...any preference on what I bring next?"

"Small is good. We like small cars."

"Hmm," the butler's lips twitched upwards. "That's understandable. I'll just surprise you, shall I?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll see you in an hour or so, then."

"Have fun driving home," he teased.

"Oh, I shall, young sir. I shall indeed."

Ninety minutes passed. Autos of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of dirtiness rolled in and out of their cleaning lane, some drawing sighs of relief, others groans of pain. Dick had been made the unofficial schmoozer, assigned to talk to each driver and collect the fee. A few were assholes, the sort of people who liked to wait in line to complain that ten bucks was barely cheaper than going to the actual drive-in wash, but he charmed where he could and got a few extra dollars for his trouble. It all went into the kitty, and before long everyone had lost count of their take. Things were just beginning to slacken off mid-lunch-hour when a low whistle was heard from Sergeant Petersen.

"Classic Jag. _Nice_."

"Hey, Grayson, your buddy's back," Emerson elbowed him.

"Sweet. I'll take another hundred in the pot." It was a hell of a lot better deal than when he'd had to help clean the cars for free as a kid, he kept to himself. To be fair, he'd never really minded – it was hard to resent getting to touch machines like the ones that made up the Wayne Manor menagerie – but this was still the most fun he'd ever had doing it. If only he could cut out the beat-up pick-ups and multicolored sedans he'd washed since the Bentley had pulled away and focus specifically on Bruce's imports...

"Hello again, young sir," Alfred nodded when he approached. "...You're looking a bit peaky. Haven't you eaten yet?"

"Nah, it's been non-stop. I'm okay," he assured as an eyebrow traveled swiftly north. "They just threw some buck apiece hot dogs on the barbeque to sell to people whose cars we're washing. I'll go chip in for one of those in a little bit."

"Mm...well, you know how I feel about ersatz comestibles such...hot dogs," the butler shuddered, "but I suppose it would look a bit strange to your friends if I were to hand you a bag lunch through the door."

"Yeah, that would probably give me away," Dick chuckled.

"Yes...in that case," Alfred sighed, palming not one bill this time but two, "take the standard charge and an extra ten so that your crew can all have one of those...meat-like items. You all need to keep your strength up if you're to win, after all."

"You're the best, you know that?" he beamed.

"Oh...for heaven's sake, you pitiful, dripping child, take another tenner for drinks. I suppose it's all carbonated offerings?"

"...Will it make you feel better if I promise to get a water instead of soda?"

"Immensely."

"Then I promise."

"Very good. Well, scrub the dust off of this one for me, and then do try and give yourself a moment in the shade, would you?"

"If I can find some," Dick nodded, backing away. "Thanks again!" he added loudly, trying to throw off his watching compatriots. "Check it out, guys; another hundred, _and_ he said we did such a good job on the last car that he pitched in for hot dogs and drinks for all of us."

"Holy..."

"I think I love this guy."

"...Are you _sure_ you don't know him?"

"Mikey, I'm not the only nice person to ever come out of Gotham," he slapped the suspicious cop on the shoulder as everyone slogged forward with their buckets. "This gentleman happens to be proof of that. Do you want a hot dog and a soda, or what?"

"Well yeah, it's like a hundred degrees out here. I'm dying."

"Then quit looking for clues where there aren't any, would you?"

"All right, all right, you win..."

The Jaguar rolled away finally, and the action slowed for a little while. People broke off in ones and twos at twenty minute intervals to get their food and drink and rest their muscles for a spell, coming back refreshed and ready for the next job. Dick went last, and as a result he was swigging the dregs of his bottle of water when a sky-blue Aston Martin stopped by with a familiar profile behind the wheel.

"Grayson!" Becca hollered and waved at him. "You're on!"

Grinning, he jogged to the driver's side. "Howdy."

"There, you do look a bit better now that you've had a rest," Alfred noted, sounding pleased. "You're growing a bit red, though. Did you bring sunblock?"

"I put some on this morning."

"And you've no doubt sweated through it or had it rinsed off several times over already."

"Probably, but if you hand me a tube of lotion through the window people are going to think something extremely awkward is going on between us."

The Englishman's eyes sparkled above his amused mouth. "Indeed they might. Still, you might ask around. One of the others may have some you can borrow."

"I'll check."

"Be sure you do," he pretended to withhold his payment until he got the proper answer.

"I swear, I will."

"Very well. The usual, then."

"Uh...you sure you don't want _twice_ the usual?" Dick asked, staring at the two bills he'd been handed this time around. "Because I don't think we can eat a hundred hot dogs."

"I'm afraid I have to double up on this one and the next. I'd planned to bring six cars total by, but they've shut down the Justice Marshall Bridge for construction and I'm having to go round the long way. I'll only have time to get here with four now, but I'd like to give the same amount anyway."

"Alfred..." Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he bit his lip. "C'mon, this is too much."

"For the widows and orphans of police officers? Perish the thought of any amount being too much, young sir."

"Yeah, but...that's not the only reason you're doing it." _You're doing it so I can come home an extra day soon, and as much as I love that...it's too much money, Alfred. _They were already likely to win, but the butler seemed determined to make sure of it.

"No, you're quite on the mark about that," he admitted now. "If it helps, you can always volunteer to wash the other two yourself on your paid vacation."

"You know I would."

"I do know. That's why I'll be running them both through the car wash directly before you arrive. It's the only way I can guarantee that you'll take the time to relax instead of trying to pay back some perceived debt. But we ought to end now, I think, lest your nosy cohort become convinced of our relationship again."

"Right. Okay. Just...thanks, Alfred."

"Not at all, Master Dick. Not at all."

Another two hours passed, and with it another fifteen cars. Anyone casting an eye over the several teams still holding up under the heavy mid-summer sun would have remarked on the complete one-eighty that had occurred since the fundraiser's start. There were few smiles to be seen, and those that were present seemed to be on their wearer's faces from sheer habit rather than any real goodwill. Even Dick's expression was flagging as he glanced at his cell phone and marked that they had only ten minutes left. Where, he wondered, was Alfred with the final wash?

It came into view just as he was about to give up on that last two hundred dollars. He stared for a moment, then began to laugh. _Leave it to Alfred..._

"Oh, no!" someone moaned.

"I thought I loved that guy, but now...I dunno..."

"Is that worth it? My arms are gonna fall off!"

"Come on, guys," Dick sighed. "You're not going to make me wash this behemoth by myself, are you?"

"...Ah, shit, Grayson..." several groaned.

"I didn't think so," he smiled, then made his way to the waiting man. "You saved the biggest for last."

"The biggest? Perhaps. More importantly, I saved what many would consider the _best_ for last."

"You didn't even bring the best!"

"I didn't even bring the-! Oh, you and your bloody Porsches," Alfred said lovingly.

"Gonna wash your own mouth out with soap when you get home?"

"Hardly. And you didn't hear me curse just now; it must be the heat getting to you."

"Must be," he gave a weary nod. "So what, you decided to introduce central Bludhaven to British automotive engineering today, or...?"

"Suffice it to say that it was a wonderful excuse to take a few lovely ladies who are far from home out for a drive and a day at the spa."

"Don't you think Bruce is going to know something's going on when you pick him up in a fifty-year-old Rolls-Royce limo? He's not meeting the Queen tonight or something, is he?"

"No, Master Dick, not to my knowledge. He does have a business dinner to attend, however, which is why he drove himself to work this morning."

"Ah, so _that's_ what it is. He won't be home to see you park it back in the garage."

"Quite. I'm certain he wouldn't mind in any case, especially given the very worthy work to which my selections were put today. Speaking of," two final hundreds appeared between his fingers, "I believe I opened the day for your team; I'd like to close it out as well, if you don't mind."

Dick took the money and smirked. "At your service, _Sir_ Alfred."

"Watch your tongue, my boy," the butler warned with an imperative smile. "Some facts aren't meant to see the light of day, as I think you know."

"Nobody heard me. Relax. Your secrets are as safe as mine."

Fifteen groan-filled minutes later, he tapped on the window. "All done, then?" Alfred asked.

"Yup. Washed, dried, and spit-shined."

"I sincerely hope you excluded the last step."

"...Uh-oh. We thought that was what you paid all the extra for."

"Highly amusing, Master Dick, I'm sure."

"Sorry. I'm not up to par right now. Too tired." A yawn split his face just then, making him scramble to cover his mouth.

"So I see. Are you working tomorrow?"

"Mid-shift. I have to be back at two."

"Hmm...so you've nearly twenty-four hours, then?"

"Yeeeeah. Why?"

"Oh, no particular reason. Merely curious, is all. In any case, I shall see you very soon, I'm sure. Let me know if your team was victorious, would you please? I'd like to know that my contributions went to _two_ good causes."

"I'll let you know. See you later Alfred," Dick smiled sincerely. "And thanks, even if we don't win."

"Of course, young sir. Drive safely, if you please."

"I will. You, too." Stepping back, he watched the Rolls pull away. A few yards over his cohorts were busily dumping their buckets and wringing out sponges, all eager to get home and pass out after six hours of hard labor. Stretching, he turned to join them, but found Emerson in the way. "...Mikey?"

"You're _sure_ you don't know him?"

"Dude...why do you care? Seriously?"

"Call it police instinct."

"Do you see anyone else's 'police instinct' going off?"

"...No."

"Then what's the deal?" _You're a good guy, Mike, but you're kind of pissing me off right now,_ he thought, exasperated.

"Nothing, I guess," Emerson shook his head. "I'm just...I dunno. Whatever. It doesn't matter."

A glimmer of an idea occurred. Maybe it was just the long day and the hot sun, but Dick leaped on it. "What, do you think I'm on the take with him or something?"

"...Whoa. Grayson...no, man, I don't think that." Emerson held up his hands apologetically. "No. I just...I just jumped to conclusions, okay? I don't think that, I know better. You're a straight arrow, no question about it. I don't know, maybe that guy just likes you or something. Like you said, who cares? I'm just...you know...being snoopy. Ignore me."

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay. I'm, ah...I'm pretty tired. You?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Cool. Cool. Maybe we _both_ kind of...you know. Overreacted."

"Yeah. That's it."

"We're cool?"

"We're good, Dick. We're good. Just a misunderstanding."

"...Okay. Good." He took a deep breath. "Let's get these last buckets emptied, huh?"

"Okay, yeah. I'll help you."

"Cool."


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours later Dick was home and testing the angry patches of sunburn he'd acquired on his arms and neck during the day. He'd asked about sunblock as he'd promised, but no one on his team had thought to bring any with. The ribbing he would have gotten from the other squads had he asked them had been painful to contemplate, so he'd refrained. Now, though, he was paying the price with a different type of agony, and as he tried to stretch his tightening skin he regretted not opting for ridicule.

The bell drew a reluctant groan from his throat. _Who the hell...?_ he griped, dragging himself from the bathroom mirror to look through the peephole. ..._Alfred?_ Surprised, he opened the door. "Hey. What's up, did we miss a spot? Please say no, I think I'm dying."

"Good lord, Master Dick," the butler's eyes widened when he spied the damage the sun had done. "Didn't you find any sunblock after I reminded you?"

"I tried," he winced as he stepped aside. "Nobody had any."

"Have you any burn cream or aloe, at least?"

"On the bathroom counter. I was just about to put some on."

"Sit down and drink something while I fetch it."

"Whatever you say." He did as he'd been told, wincing when his arm brushed the back of the chair. As unexpected as Alfred's arrival was, he had no intentions of complaining; the man would insist on applying the salve himself, and that would save him worlds of pain. "Did you find it?" he asked as he reappeared.

"I did. Is supermarket-grade all you have? There must be something better in your _other_ first aid kit, I'm sure."

"There was some of your stuff in there, but I ran out last week. Not because I had to use it on an injury," he added before the Englishman's eyebrows could merge with his hairline. "The opposite, actually. It got so old that I didn't think it would be any good any more."

"I'm happy to hear that you didn't need to use it – hold still, please – but I can't imagine why you didn't immediately ask me to restock it for you."

"I kept meaning too," Dick answered, gritting his teeth as gentle fingers swiped over angry flesh, "but it's been so crazy lately..."

"It has indeed. We've barely seen you at the house for nearly a month."

"I know. I'm sorry." He paused. "...Is _that_ why you performed your little act of altruism today?"

"You're referring to my donations, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Oh...that may have been the underlying reason, I suppose. Let's not look too hard into it lest what appears on the surface to have been a good deed turns out to be little more than self-service, hmm?"

"C'mon, we both know Mauss' rule. There's no such thing as pure altruism. Who would hold it against you if you _did_ fork over six hundred bucks today just so I'd have a day off to spend at home? The Widows and Orphans Fund got a ton of extra money regardless, and we might have won even if you hadn't shown up."

"_Did_ you win?"

"Yeah. We won by, um...by a lot." It had almost been embarrassing, but it had made the team happy, so he couldn't really complain.

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it."

"I was, too. Anyway, so it's not altruism." He shrugged, and immediately regretted it. "...Ow. Who says it has to be?" A little laugh rose in his throat as something occurred to him. "I think I prefer 'Al'truism."

The fingers on his shoulder hesitated. "'Al'truism? I'm afraid I don't see the..._oh. _Oh, that was a rather awful pun, young sir, even for you." Regardless, Dick could hear the man chuckling behind him.

"Aw, it wasn't _that_ bad."

"If you insist. To return to the subject of your burns and the treatment that they so desperately need if you want to function tomorrow, why don't you come back to the house with me for the evening? You can breakfast with Master Wayne and Master Tim in the morning – I'll set out a waffle bar, if you like – and then I'll bring you over in time for your shift."

"...That's tempting, but I really need to patrol tonight."

"You must be joking. Can you even lift your arms all the way?"

He tried. "Uh...no. No, I can't."

"It will only get worse without the good burn cream."

"I know, I know...and home is where the cream is."

"Indeed."

"...Will you say it?"

"Say what?"

"The thing."

"'Home is where the cream is'?" Alfred guessed.

"Ha! Perfect." Grinning despite the soreness radiating up his arms and across his back, Dick stood and carefully pulled on the loose tank top he was handed.

"I fear I've missed the source of your amusement again."

"Ah, c'mon! 'Home is where the cream is'." He smirked, pleased with himself. "Once you said it, it became an Al truism."

The butler stared at him for a moment, then gave a defeated sigh and covered his eyes with one hand. "_Really_, young sir, your sense of humor at times is-"

"Fantastic? Brilliant? Marvelous?" Dick teased as he grabbed the few things he would need for a quick overnight to Gotham.

"...Let's just call it unique, shall we?"

"Unique it is. I'm ready when you are."

"Very good." They exited the apartment in silence, and it was only when they were halfway down the stairs that Alfred spoke again. "I meant to inquire...several of your team mates seemed to have similar surnames to your own earlier today. Was that a coincidence?"

"Heh. Nope," he smirked. "Emerson and Pierson were talking about building a team for today a few weeks ago. Their desks are close to mine, so I was sort of half-listening, you know, and I made the joke that they should have a team that you could only join if your last name ended in '-son'. They went for it."

"I'm amazed you had enough properly named volunteers in your precinct."

"Well...technically we were one short, but we bent the rule a little to let Sonders in." They stepped outside, and Dick stopped. "..._Now_ you brought the best car," he beamed happily as he spotted the Porsche that sat waiting for him.

"I thought it would have been cruel to bring something by earlier that you love so much but couldn't have bragged about to your friends. This seemed like a better solution."

"It's _perfect._ Hello, gorgeous..." He ran his hand along the lines leading to the nearer headlight. "...I'm amazed it didn't get stolen while you were upstairs."

"I may have given some shady-looking fellows a rather hard look when I pulled up," Alfred shared. "I see they've cleared off now."

"Scaring all my petty criminals away?"

"Well, I could hardly let them steal what I believe may be your favorite part of your future inheritance, now could I?"

"No. But this car had better be at least another fifty years old before I inherit it or anything else."

"Agreed, Master Dick. Now, if you think you can handle sitting back against the seat...?"

It was a chore, but he managed it. The leather would be a bitch to pull away from once they were home, he knew, but for the moment it was refreshingly cool on his broiled skin. "Oh, man," he groaned, relaxing. "Bruce isn't going to believe the day I've had. Washing cars for charity, hanging out with the incomparable Alfred, eating hot dogs – that you knew about and paid for, that'll blow his mind – and now taking a ride in a sweet, sweet 911. Getting totally crispy was-" he broke off, yawning, "-worth it for all of this. It's _way_ better than sitting in board rooms and fancy restaurants all day."

"I'm sure Master Wayne will agree with you on that. From the sound of things, however, you won't be awake to tell him about your day if you don't take a nap on the way home."

"Mm...you may have a point there," Dick conceded, his eyes already slipping to half-mast as the engine rumbled to life. "Such a good sound..."

"Go to sleep, young sir."

"I'll miss the ride, though...!"

"We'll bring you back in this same car tomorrow so that you can enjoy it. All right?"

There was a hint of warm amusement in Alfred's tone that served as the final drop of tonic to his tired, sun-baked brain. "Mmkay," he nodded, then dropped into a well-deserved slumber.

His dreams were of laughter, fine automobiles, and the particular flavor of freshly grilled hot dogs.

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**Author's Note: I will post pictures of the cars I was envisioning Alfred driving on my blog. I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
